


Go bAcK To sLeEp

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ancestors, Intoxication, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Size Kink, Tentabulges
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 12:48:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>GHB - 1. Depressant/Intoxicant causing disinhibition, drowsiness, enhanced sensuality and empathogenesis. 2. One scary motherfucker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go bAcK To sLeEp

He falls asleep outside of his recuperacocoon, as he does so often. You wonder what in the ever loving fuck his lusus was thinking when he just leaves him around like that. He’ll never live up to what he’s meant to at this rate. You should abandon him too. Pointless.

But you watch all the same.

Sometimes you enter his hive and creep around the magnificent pile of horns and watch him. He slumbers. You watch. You leave.

It is not enough.

You want him. You need to feel him. To teach him.

You form a plan and execute it perfectly.

The poison in you is strong enough to kill a troll lower on the hemospectrum, but a low dose of venom is altogether different for a highblood. Altogether pleasant, one could say. Pleasant enough that when you feel the fangs fold out amongst your teeth you contemplate partaking yourself.

But you need your wits so you don’t destroy him. Not yet. Not before you enjoy him.

And so he only jolts for a second when you grip him, gently, firmly, and sink your teeth against his shoulder. He splutters, curses, but loses his footing quickly as he tries to pull away from you. You watch him stumble around for moment and catch him when he starts to sink to the ground, bewildered but fading.

He is pliant in your hands, slouching backwards like a rag doll when you pull him to his feet. His pulse beats rapidly in his neck and you can almost see the precious blood rocketing through his veins as it wells slowly out of the small wounds you made. You could tear him open and see what his insides have to say, but you kiss his mouth instead, capturing his shuddering breaths.

He’s cool in your hands and looks up at you like you’re something of a miracle. A slow smile spreads over his face and he purrs “Wow.” Just a simple word. His hands trace over your arms and up to your neck, lacing behind it so he can hold himself steady, pull himself up. Your painted grin matches the one your lips make as he leans up and breaths near your mouth, his long fingers getting lost and tangled in your mane of hair.

“Who are you?” he murmurs in a whimsical fashion, his pupils growing larger by the second.

“Everything you are meant to be.”

The pile lets out a series of encouraging honks as you sit back against it after you easily quit him his pants. They shred under your claws and fall away to reveal his sleek form, his bulge already coiling slowly out of its sheath and towards your wrist. With your hand on his back you pull him into your lap, his relaxed body flopping against your chest. You nearly have to dodge his horns but instead take one in your huge hand, jerking his head to one side to let your tongue run along his neck and collarbone, carefully avoiding the wound you made earlier at the top of his shoulder. You can taste him when the poison sets in. Instead you drag your teeth over the taught skin. He tries to raise his head but you pull harder, folding him at an awkward angle.

He grunts in discomfort, but not for long as you run your palm from his naked hip up under his shirt and over his ribs. He purrs then as your nails gently prick the skin, awakening the nerves as you peel the garment off him. The fingers that had flown to your wrist to try and alleviate the pressure on his skull now hang limp, one thumb tracing gently over your wrist. His lips join them, kissing the inside of your wrist and palm.

He’s distracted himself enough that he tenses in surprise when his hips suddenly don’t meet cloth, but your own skin.

He looks like he might be nervous if he had the sense to be, but the giggle that erupts from him betrays his curiosity. Can he do it, he’s thinking. He’s thinking, will he survive it?

“What’re you gonna do with that?”

Your heart races at the implication that he might not, your bulge working over his. You dwarf him, it seems, but the slippery friction makes you hum in delight.

“Break you.” Your affectionate murmurs mask your true intentions, now that you’ve well and truly figured them out. You’re meant to break him. You’re meant to make him bleed. You can hardly stand the thought of how beautiful it will be. In anticipation he shivers, his eyes fluttering shut when you enter him. He is painfully tight, and the more you press in to him the wider your grin spreads.

His breath hitches in his throat and you watch his face tick in pain. Obliging the telegraph, you withdraw slightly, running your tongue over his throat, his collarbone. His skin is cool now even than before, and when his eyes open slightly they are nearly black. It’s the eyes that tell you, more than the disjointed, lackluster movements of his fingers against your scalp, that the poison has taken him.

You decide to bring him back.

With a tight grip, you pull him down, bucking your hips and forcing him to take everything he can without splitting in two, and then just a little more. He shouts, high and shrill, and tenses up considerably, clinging to you in surprise and brain-blinding pain. The reaction only spurs you on, and you press into him with short thrusts and angled rolls of your hips.

He’s limp and cold and whining and motherfucking beautiful and you could kill him, except you can’t. The way his fingers knot in your hair and the way he’s just crying against your neck when you scrape your teeth again him; the way he feels, smells, tastes.

“It hurts.” He breathes. “It hurts.” You’re really not surprised and wonder absently how much more he can take before he passes out.

Or dies.

But he does something that surprises you. Prickling claws dig in to your massive shoulders, bringing blood and stinging softly. And he begs “Please” and “More” and it’s all you can do to keep from tearing him in half, pushing his bony hips down against you as your bulge folds and writhes, desperate to feel more, more. You can feel his nook stretching to accommodate you, his bulge writhing against your belly.

A hissing growl pulls out of his throat and his claws dig tighter into your flesh, parting the little rivers of blood that start to trickle out and stain his fingers. And now he’s with you in earnest, rolling his hips off you for a moment just to sit back again, bringing a grunt of approval from your chest. The uncomfortable tightness has subsided to a blissful closeness and you feel your growls turn to purrs.

You have simultaneous thoughts of close and not yet and you honestly don’t know which you’d rather oblige because you can smell his blood seeping from the wounds you’ve given him and it mixes with the scent of you all over him. The sounds of his cries are nearly overrun by your loud purrs, which are almost growls you’re so delighted that now he’s grinding against you, moaning and mewling. He spreads his legs wide, desperate to have you, all of you, at whatever cost it demands of his body.

You cradle him at the small of his back as he uses your hair to guide himself over you. Sweat sheens on his skin, making him clammy, but you don’t care. It’s the look on his face that finishes you. The look just then that breaks through of taking what he wants, without question or fear. It’s malicious, it’s cruel, and it is satisfied as his skin finally meets yours and he takes you to the base, stretched wide and hardly able to move he’s so much shaking mess.

When you released in him with a muffled roar, he shouts again, his eyes rolling back in his head.

He’s fainted. Not died, as you had (frankly) expected. You snort a bit, grudging him the fact that maybe he can live up to what he’s meant to.

So long as he keeps taking what he wants.

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally posted on my tumblr, which now no longer exists.


End file.
